


Fine for Now (Goin' Down the Road)

by TrouserFreeTuesday



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Gratuitous Hand Holding, Honda Odyssey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrouserFreeTuesday/pseuds/TrouserFreeTuesday
Summary: Henry and Darryl share a moment during a late night drive in the Odyssey.
Relationships: Henry Oak/Darryl Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 86





	Fine for Now (Goin' Down the Road)

**Author's Note:**

> It's self-indulgent and sappy but I had to expunge this idea from my head, so here it is. This can take place whenever the fuck you want it to!
> 
> (Title is from Down the Road by Stan Rogers, a classic folk singer for any Canadian dads out there)

The Honda Odyssey is silent for the first time in hours.

The dads have been on the road since the crack of dawn and it has been a long day of bickering about directions and directives and dealing with unhelpful locals. Even their downtime, as rare as it is, has been spent arguing with Glenn about the moon landing. Night crept up faster than any of them had anticipated, and their hopes of finding an inn for the night have long since vanished. The closest thing any of them have seen to a village in miles is an overturned cart on the roadside.

Darryl agreed to take the first driving shift for a variety of reasons, not fully trusting the others with his beloved van among them. It has come with the added benefit of some needed peace and quiet, Glenn is sprawled out in the back, asleep and snoring, evidently tired after a day of near-shouting about Area 52 (it’s where the _real_ aliens are). Ron’s in the middle row and is either asleep or dead; his body is limp as a ragdoll and his head lolls to the side. It is both uncomfortable and unnatural, two things that have quickly proven themselves to be the Ron Stampler Style.

The Odyssey rumbles along an unpaved road, lined by unfamiliar trees and illuminated by the Honda’s headlights. Ordinarily, if there were kids in the car, Darryl would be making a show of being a safe driver. Hands firmly at 10-and-2, eyes on the road, with regular checks on all three mirrors and a good sense of the speed limit. However, there aren't any kids around (or a speed limit, for that matter), so Darryl is relaxed.

One hand holds the wheel, the other resting on his leg, and his gaze wanders. Not to the mirror (and certainly not to Ron), but to the passengers seat – where Henry is watching the scenery outside with an absent interest. Dappled moonlight casts strange shadows across Henry’s face, and Darryl finds he can’t quite tear his gaze away. He’ll look away for a moment, to check a side mirror or to make sure the path ahead is still clear, and then he’s back to watching Henry watch the world roll by.

It’s not quite a family road trip to Disney, but this is almost nice.

After a moment (or two, Darryl isn’t counting), Henry tilts his head and catches Darryl’s gaze. He smiles, just slightly, before looking back out the window. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Henry says quietly, “And I know it’s not the most important thing, or even an important thing at all, but I keep thinking that once we find a way to get home – with the boys, of course – that we should try to take some of the rocks here with us.”

Darryl, unsure of how he’s expected to respond, manages a vaguely interested grunt that Henry seems to misconstrue as either disinterest or judgment.

Darryl, unsure of how he’s expected to respond, manages a vaguely interested grunt that Henry seems to misconstrue as either disinterest or judgment.

Now slightly flustered, Henry continues: “I know, I know it’s the last thing I should be thinking about, but at the same time, well, I get kind of a kick out of thinking about discovering a new type of mineral.”

“Well, sure, I get that. You could get a whole rock named after you – if they even name rocks for people, I’m not really sure how that works.”

A rock is a rock is a rock as far as Darryl is concerned. He might call a big rock a boulder if he had to, but he can’t say he’s ever put a moment’s thought into rock names before.

Henry, evidently, has put much more thought into mineral naming conventions and launches into a lecture on Frankhawthorneite and Dickite and dozens of minerals Darryl has literally never once thought of.

Even though Henry’s talking quietly, excitement seeps through, and Darryl finds himself actually listening. It is, at least, more enjoyable than Henry’s regular self-righteous lectures that Darryl prefers to tune out. 

It takes Henry a while to realize he’s rambling, and when he does he trails off with a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all Museum Henry on you. Lark and Sparrow usually cut me off pretty quickly when I start doing that.”

Darryl waves the apology off. “It’s fine.” Then, “You must miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“Uh, y’know, the museum – talking about rocks.” Darryl doesn’t say _everything else_ but he means that too.

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I mean, there must be stuff you miss also.”

The most Darryl can do is nod. He knows that the

world he is going back to is not the one he left. At most he’s coming home to a serious conversation with Carol and a child he can’t quite recognize. “Sure,” Darryl agrees vaguely, and manages to rattle off something resembling an answer (football may have come up, Darryl isn’t listening to himself). Meanwhile, he finds himself thinking of the future. Broadly, conceptually, and not just in the point form to-do list he’s been operating on since driving through that portal.

“D’you think we can just go back to normal after this?” Darryl asks. The thought’s been gnawing on him since the For Knights Tournament (and especially after). He scratches at his beard. “Assuming we get home, I guess, Glenn and Ron will go do whatever it is they do – business, maybe? - and you’ll get rocks named after you and then, what? Is it just business as usual again?”

Henry seems surprised by the question, and shifts to face Darryl. In the back seat, Glenn murmurs something and tosses in his sleep. “Gosh, I don’t know. These are pretty unusual times we find ourselves in.” Henry is silent, thoughtful, for a moment and Darryl pretends he’s watching the road ahead. “I mean, I do miss just about everything about home but I admit it’s hard to imagine going back to being a regular old geologist after this.” Henry cocks his head to the side and adds, lightly, “I won’t miss people trying to constantly murder us, though.”

“I’m worried about the kids.” Darryl hasn’t even fully realized the thought before he says it. Once it’s out there, though, the rest of his worry just tumbles out with it. “They’re a tough bunch, I know, but Grant’s a sensitive kid – always has been – and I guess I just have a hard time seeing how you come from this,” Darryl gestures broadly to the road ahead, and means something both literal and metaphorical at once, “and can just go back to being a normal kid.”

“I-” Henry starts, then trails off. He frowns and looks curiously at Darryl. The energy in the van shifts to something a bit more subdued, more serious, and without Glenn or Ron awake to try and break the tension. Henry slumps his shoulders forward. He looks tired. “If I’m being honest, I’m worried too.”

Darryl’s fingers itch to play with the radio dials. It’d be easier than dealing with the exhausted expression on Henry’s face. 

Henry sighs, and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “I think our only option is to talk to them.”

It’s exactly the sort of answer Darryl expects Henry to give. He snorts humorlessly. “That’s easier said than done.”

Henry rolls his eyes. "You just have to be open with Grant, Darryl, it's not rocket science."

“For you, maybe.” Darryl winces at his needlessly bitter tone. “Not everyone can be quite so open with their feelings all the time.”

What Darryl is expecting, or is maybe hoping for, is a fight. For Henry to adopt that afflicted tone and launch into some self-righteous rant that derails the conversation.

Henry, not for the first time, surprises him. He cocks his head to the side, no trace of his usual indignation, and looks at Darryl like he’s a puzzle missing a piece. 

Darryl checks the speedometer. 

“Have you tried-” Henry starts.

“Of course I’ve tried,” Darryl says sharply, though he isn’t fully sure that’s true. Ron stirs in the back and Darryl drops his tone to a harsh whisper. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Except every time I try I seem to just make things worse. The situation's already pretty fucked, Henry, and I,” Darryl sighs. “I just don’t want to accidentally hurt Grant more than he’s already been.”

It’s a painfully honest admission, and it surprises Darryl and Henry in equal measure. Out of the corner of his eye, Darryl sees Henry’s expression soften. 

“I’m sorry,” Henry says, gently, “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t trying. But I also don’t think talking to your kids is supposed to be _easy_. I mess up all the time. Lark wants to be a love wolf because of me, remember?” It is a tremendously hard thing to forget. “Still, I figure I owe it to the kids, and to myself, to try – don’t you and Grant deserve the same thing?” Henry reaches out across the console and gently grabs Darryl’s forearm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not a bad dad, Darryl,” Henry continues. His hand doesn’t move. “Well, actually, I may have a few notes, but now isn’t the time.”

Darryl manages something like a polite chuckle. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else.

Henry’s hand doesn’t move and Darryl doesn’t think about it.

He doesn’t think about how warm Henry’s hand is, or about the way Henry’s fingers are grazing the pulse point of his wrist, or about how this is not usually how platonic friends comfort each other (Darryl’s more of a back pat man himself). Instead, he stares directly out the wind shield. Tall, looming trees have given way to small groupings of pines that allow streaks of moonlight to shine across the road. There is maybe something to be learned of the area’s topography, but Darryl’s not particularly inclined to think to hard about it.

Because, frankly, Henry’s hand is distracting.

This is hardly the first time they’ve touched (they’ve _kissed_ , which is a thing Darryl has yet to unpack), but it’s different this time. Without the pretense of deception or team camaraderie, they’re just Henry and Darryl having a moment in the minivan.

Darryl swallows, unsure of what to do. If he looks down, he will see Henry’s hand – callused and scarred from weeks of fighting – so close to his own. Then he thinks of the advice he used to give Grant on rollercoasters. Don’t look down, don’t realize how high up you are or how dangerously close you are to falling.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, Darryl begins to move his own hand into Henry’s. He feels the pads of Henry’s fingers graze against his palm, over the unevenly healed blood pact scar. According the speedometer, they are still driving at a steady 40. Darryl begins to close his hand over Henry’s, at the same as Henry threads their fingers together.

Neither of them speak; neither of them look at the other. If they did, maybe Henry would notice the way Darryl’s nearly stopped breathing or Darryl would notice the rosy blush spreading across Henry’s cheeks. As it is, both men instead notice an oddly shaped rock on the roadside.

The moment draws on for what feels like minutes and miles.

Holding Henry’s hand should feel stranger, Darryl thinks. Instead, it feels _fine._ Like a thing they’ve done hundreds of times before. As easy as tossing a football. Darryl lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Oh, hat of vermin, give me three frogs please,” Ron says, abruptly, puncturing the moment with a start. Henry pulls his hand back sharply. The interruption is punctuated by a snore.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirms three things: that Ron remains asleep, the hat of vermin has spawned three frogs, and even fully unconscious Ron Stampler has mastered the art of ruining a moment.

In the passengers seat, Henry rubs his hand nervously against his leg. Darryl places both hands firmly on the steering wheel. The moment, whatever it was, is effectively ruined and Darryl is left feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

They _could_ talk about it, that’s probably what Henry would do.

Except, Henry isn’t talking. He’s looking at his hand, expression perplexed, as if the situation had gotten away from him. The clock on the dashboard blinks, 3:30 in the morning.

Darryl clears his throat. “Hey, uh, feel free to catch some shut eye. I’m good to drive for a while longer.”

Henry nods. “I think that’s a probably a good idea. Long day.” He offers a small laugh.

“Yeah,” Darryl agrees.

Slowly, awkwardly, Henry reclines his seat and tucks his glasses into the collar of his shirt.

Darryl’s brain is screaming at him to say something or do something (and he very firmly ignores the part of his brain that is just going _kiss him kiss him_ because, well, he’s driving and also it’s really not the time). Literally everything about this world is uncharted territory but somehow he’s feeling more lost now than he has in a while.

By the time Darryl has worked up the nerve to say something Henry’s almost dozed off. His eyes are closed, head lilting to the side.

“Hey, Henry?” Darryl says softly.

“Hm?” Henry shifts and looks at Darryl through sleep-lidded eyes.

“I. Uh. Thanks.” Darryl smiles, and meets Henry’s gaze. “I mean it.”

Henry smiles back. “Anytime.”

Another day, Darryl will try to unpack what the ache in his chest means. For now, with Henry dozing lightly in the passenger seat, Darryl’s happy to drive on and watch the road ahead.


End file.
